Star Wars: The Search for the Jedi Temple
by Don113
Summary: WILL BE UPDATED PENDING REVAMP!


Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sergeant CA-1990 "Fox" (Squad C, Ghost Company) slipped carefully past the Imperial patrol. His armor was coated with the latest radar-absorbent outer layer, it regulated his body temperature so that he didn't show up easily on infrared, and the two-shades-green digital camo pattern was hard to see, especially at night. Still, there was always the chance that the techies in the ONRI, or Office of New Republic Intelligence's Section Three (or Sec3, as most personnel preferred to call it) were wrong or had over-estimated the capabilities of the armor. Like Company Commander Shade said, "It pays to be too careful." Fox only relaxed when the four storm-troopers passed him by.

This wasn't an assault, rather a prelude to one. It was no secret that Imperial Intelligence was wondering why the New Republic hadn't launched an invasion of the Empire. What they didn't realize was that Grand Admiral Ackbar, the Rebel hero who had taken over control of the Grand Navy of the New Republic from the newly-promoted High Admiral Antidar Madakor (himself a hero in the Liberty Fleet, once known as the Blood Fleet) was much more careful in planning his attacks.

Although few people knew it, Ackbar and Madakor often quarreled over how and when the invasion of the Empire should begin, the former wanting to wait and the latter wanting to start sooner. Matters weren't helped by Chancellor Mon Mothma's deputy, Borsk Fey'lya, a Bothan whose mindset was best summed up by none other than the New Republic's young almost-Jedi hero, Luke Skywalker: "Borsk does what Borsk needs to do, at any given moment, to benefit Borsk." The Bothan's rivalry with Ackbar was well known, and his arguments with Madakor were often more fierce; Fey'lya feared that Madakor's new intelligence agency ONRI would undermine the Bothan Spynet's reputation as the New Republic's foremost provider of intelligence. In fact, a Spynet agent was here on Atzerri, and while Fox and ONRI knew the agent was there, the agent herself did not know there was a Ghost Company unit on the planet as well. Fey'lya often pushed for an invasion, but what Madakor disapproved of was the Bothan's insistence that they push immediately for Coruscant. The heat between the two was very fierce, and often carried out into the field; while the exact number of Spynet agents accidentally harmed or killed by the clone assassins of Ghost Company was a closely guarded secret, it was no secret that such confrontations occurred, and it frustrated Madakor's efforts to gather intelligence. Fey'lya's efforts to expose these incidents weren't helped by the fact that Ghost Company did not officially exist, and therefore any actions taken by Ghost units weren't admissible in any court, and were dismissed as conspiracy theories and hearsay.

Fox would have liked to ignore the political machine that churned back on Eriadu, but inevitably the reverberations carried out into the field, usually via Spynet agents trying to outdo ONRI. He had a close eye on the Bothan, a young novice who nevertheless looked like she knew her stuff. He didn't want to kill her, and he wished that the previous four Bothans hadn't tried to blow his brothers' covers. But if she endangered his mission, he knew what he would have to do.

Right now, the Bothan was a step ahead of him, slipping quietly into the Imperial HQ on Atzerri. Ever since a Moff here went rogue, the Imperial Security Bureau, or ISB, had had a heavy presence on the planet, making sure no defections took place in the future. It made the spying business here exceedingly difficult even for a human spy; alien species were the object of prejudice and hatred in Imperial society, especially Bothans. Fox admired the rookie's guts. Quickly and quietly, he went in, through an access hatch meant for droids. There was a lot of heat emanating from the vents here, meant to dissuade the token spy from entering this way, but apparently they hadn't counted on Ghost Company and their armor. Fox didn't even feel warm, although the metal parts on his armor turned slightly red. When he exited, he was in a droid maintenance room. Droids maintained droids here, and all that was here were a few astromechs and a swarm of mouse droids. Thankfully there were no protocol droids, because they could easily sound the alarm…and the way they spoke was extremely annoying to Fox. When he opened the door, though, he happened upon something that was more dangerous for him: a lone Imperial officer.

The female officer looked frightened, frozen like an animal caught in the headlights; Fox realized he must have looked very scary, heat rippling off his dark armor and forearm-mounted cortosis-alloy vibroblades. It worked fine for him, but he didn't want to spill any blood just yet. Just as the officer came unfrozen, fumbling with her holster, Fox slammed her into a wall, grabbing her throat in the same motion. He grabbed her pistol hand with his free hand, and squeezed her throat quickly. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a gurgle. With a quick twist, he snapped her neck.

_Fierfek_, he thought. He hadn't wanted to rack up a body count this early. Still, he could hide the body, and make it look like another crime.

It made his stomach roll, but this was one of the methods to hide signs of hard contact: by making it look like another crime had taken place. Carefully, he dragged the dead woman into the droid maintenance room. The droids went about their business, oblivious. He tore open her shirt, then her undershirt, exposing her breasts. Then he pulled down her pants, ripping her panties. That was as far as he would go. He knew there were some people in the Zann Consortium and Black Sun, and even in the Republic's non-clone ranks, who would have lined up to rape the body, but he wasn't that depraved. With that done, he left the room.

Security cameras were everywhere, but they watched the main hallways. Side hallways used by servants and such were not, and Fox took full advantage of the security lapse. There weren't many people here anyway, and the cleaning lady wouldn't give away his position if she didn't see him. Fox looked at the old woman's face, seeing a resemblance to the officer he had killed and…he didn't want to think about it, even if he hadn't violated the body. Some things were too much for him to think about. _Maybe she's her mother,_ he thought. _Fierfek._ Once the cleaning lady had passed, he entered the main office.

The Imperial officer in charge here, Moff Geronis, was little more than a figurehead controlled by ISB. He spent his nights tending to his baser needs at some local whorehouse. But he did have access to real intel, and that was what Fox was after.

"Ah," said someone, "I didn't know you people were here."

Fox reacted instantly, both blades sliding into position. He had a blaster, a DC-17s Sidearm, but in close quarters he used the blades. It took him a few seconds that he was millimeters away from the throat of the Bothan spy. "Yeah, we're here. But I'm here for some _real _data, not political poodoo for Fey'lya."

She looked hurt. "Not all of us care about that."

"Osik. If there's one thing I know about Bothans, it's that they take care of themselves before anyone else. Another thing I know is that they won't help anyone unless they help themselves by the same action." Fox didn't lower the blade.

"It is true that we care a lot about the welfare of Bothuwui," she said, "but not all Bothans care for Fey'lya."

"I'll believe that when Mustafar freezes over," Fox grunted, his tone indicating the conversation was over. He went over to the computer and quickly hacked the database. "Nice. Very nice. Only a small force of ten thousand stormies, plus a few AT-ST squadrons."

The Bothan tapped a key. "There's a cloud to any silver lining," she said. "Look. Triple-A batteries, hidden Hypervelocity Guns. We need to initiate a sabotage mission before we do anything. Hit the triple-A first—"

"Let JCS think about that." JCS was the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the highest ranking members of the military. "I'm going to download this data and take it to my superiors. Then _they'll _decide whether Atzerri is worth taking."

"Alright," she conceded. "I'll just put this here…" she inserted a tiny device into a vent.

"What—"

"Micro-camera," she said, a smug Bothan smile on her face. "It even gets good-quality sound."

Fox was impressed; ONRI didn't have a device that small. "I'd love to get a handful of those."

"How are you leaving?"

"Can't tell you," Fox said. "Trade secret."

The Bothan shrugged. "Fair enough." She left the room, closing the door behind her.

Fox followed closely behind, but when he opened the door again, she was nowhere to be seen. _She's good. I hope she's good enough to get off of this rock in one piece_. Without delay, he left the same way he came in, trying to avoid looking at the desecrated body of the dead officer; the image was nonetheless graven in his mind.

He made his way back to his LAAT/s Stealth Transport, wading his way through the swamps, noting that they were yet another hazard for New Republic troops. The stealth transport lifted off, and no one ever suspected that Republic troops had ever been on Atzerri.

000

Hoth was lost, and Marshal Commander CC-5455 "Hound" knew it. Imperial AT-AT walkers had overwhelmed his vanguard, four companies of non-clone troopers, among them the son of Chancellor Mothma. The remainder of those had fled further into Echo Base, closely pursued by stormtroopers. He had released the rest of the T-47 Snowspeeders and a few X-Wings, and that helped to slow the walkers' progress and allow the transports to escape. But the Imperial ground commander, General Maximilian Veers, had gotten wise, and called in air support in the form of nimble TIE Interceptors. While the X-Wings held their own, the T-47s were extremely vulnerable to hits from above, and they dropped like flies until Hound called them back.

"General Rieekan!" Hound called. "My forward position is overrun! The Empire is getting closer to the base! If you're going to release those transports, you should do it now!"

"_Understood, Commander Hound," _Rieekan said calmly. _"I'm releasing the transports. Be advised, I'm calling back all the fighters to protect them. You'll be without air cover."_

"Understood sir," Hound said through gritted teeth. It would be even harder now to hold the Imperials off. His goal wasn't to drive them off; that was impossible now. He had to hold the enemy off as long as he could, prevent the destruction of the power generator, so that the gunners of the base's enormous and very powerful Ion Cannon could provide covering fire for the retreating transports.

"_Hound, be advised you're going to have your hands full. Three companies of 501__st__ Legion troopers headed directly at your position. I'm releasing the AT-TEs for you. Hold them off, Commander."_

"Yes, sir." _501__st__. Great, now I have to kill brothers. _Worse, he had to hold them off with just one company and two walkers. He checked the charge on his DC-16A2 rifle. "Captain Mort?"

"Sir!" said the trooper, a clone with two scars across his face, souvenirs from a Wampa.

"Be prepared to take over in case I die."

"Yes sir!"

Marshal Commander Hound, CC-5455, 101st Elite Infantry Legion, Third Regiment, turned off his rifle's safety. "Aurek Company! Stand to!"

000

High Admiral Madakor watched as the Imperial Navy's infamous Death Squadron encircled Hoth. His task force of five Venators and ten Acclamators stood at a safe distance from the battle. Even if he had had more ships, Hoth was surely lost. In the big picture of things, Hoth really wasn't all that important, just a far-flung outpost. But a lot of troops had been stationed there for an assault on Atzerri, and a lot of good men were down there, including the 101st, the New Republic's counterpart to the Empire's 501st Legion.

"Sir?" said Captain ARC-1138 "Switchblade", his trusty second in command. "Grand Admiral Ackbar just issued an order. He wants us to abandon Hoth."

"Not yet," said Madakor.

"Sir, the Admiral is right, the system—"

"—is lost," Madakor finished. "But I won't leave until I know that everyone of our people is off Hoth."

"That won't happen, with the best of the Imperial Navy out there."

"Is Thrawn with the fleet?"

"No…" said Switchblade slowly.

"Then we stay. And fight." He pushed the intership COM. "All hands, prepare for battle."

Switchblade knew better than to argue with Madakor. "This is the weakest point in the enemy formation," he said. "Those coordinates align with the position of the planetary ion cannon. Best guess is that they're avoiding getting hit."

"Good. We'll hit them there."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Open up a corridor for the transports, then blast our way out once they're all gone." Madakor snapped on pieces of his armor while he spoke; it always seemed to make him feel better to wear it in battle.

"You make it sound easy."

"It won't be easy." The admiral put his helmet on.

Switchblade looked at the tactical map. "The _Executor_ is with the fleet. We're facing Darth Vader."

"No. I spoke to General Rieekan. Vader's personally leading the ground attack."

Switchblade continued to stare at the Super Star Destroyer, which dwarfed the Imperial II-Class Star Destroyers flanking it. "Who's in charge of the fleet, then?"

"Piett."

"Who?"

"Some generic face in the Imperial Navy. Word it that he's pretty competent, so I'm not going to underestimate him."

The tactical map shifted, showing the task force led by Madakor's flagship _Spirit of Fire_ (once known as _Bloodshine_) advancing against the much larger Imperial force. "We don't have the firepower to tangle with _Executor_," Switchblade warned. "They'll blast us apart before we even down their shields. I would have felt better if _Pride of the New Republic _was here." The _Pride of the New Republic _was a massive Mandator II-Class Star Dreadnought, the only vessel in the Grand Navy whose firepower matched _Executor_'s.

Madakor sighed, his expressions hidden behind his helmet. Though a very good ground commander, Switchblade wasn't as good in naval battles. As a ground commander, he measured ships by their firepower, the more firepower meaning more destruction that could be called down on him or the enemy. "I don't plan to fight Piett directly. I just want to open a corridor."

Switchblade didn't argue. "Shall I scramble the fighters?"

"Yes."

The bay doors opened on fifteen ships, and a collection of fighters, interceptors and bombers flowed out.

"Two Tartan patrol cruisers, approaching from eleven-o'clock," said Switchblade.

"Maintain course, and direct _Majestic _and _Warrior _to fire on them." Madakor was calm and in control now. This was his element.

The two Acclamator III-Class Assault Ships didn't waver an inch from their courses. Turrets swiveled and fired, and the two enemy corvettes veered away from the vicious volley, one trailing smoke. A single proton torpedo from _Warrior_ finished off the wounded corvette.

"If they hadn't taken us seriously before, they have now," noted Switchblade. He pointed to six Star Destroyers approaching their port flank.

Madakor stared at the vessels. Not even the fully upgraded _Spirit of Fire_ could take on six Imperial II-Class Star Destroyers and hope to live. He would need at least four ships. "COM1, contact _Spirit of the Republic_ and tell them to press on. COM2 contact _Hunter_, _Intervention_, and _Bastion_ and tell them to form up on me."

That meant that _Spirit of the Republic _was the only Venator II-Class vessel that would reach the weak point. The Acclamator III-Class Assault Ships followed _Spirit of the Republic_, leaving Madakor and his four Venators.

"Now what?" asked Switchblade.

"_Hunter, _take the one to port. _Bastion_, the one to starboard. _Intervention_, the second from starboard. I shall take the three in the middle."

"_Three _Imperial II-Class Star Destroyers?" Switchblade whispered. "How can we take on three ships, when we only have the firepower of one?"

"We have more firepower than an Imperial-Two," replied Madakor. "The Imperial II-Class Star Destroyer is equipped with eight XV9 Heavy Turbolaser turrets, an upgraded version of the DBY-827 turrets used on the Venator I-Class Star Destroyer. The XV9 was designed to engage ships at long range, and the power drain reduces the effectiveness of the shot. We have the DBY-888—triple-eights, I believe you call them? A single triple-eight has more firepower than an XV9…at the cost of range, of course. And we have ten of them. That's not including our SPHA cannons, the proton torpedoes and the ion cannons."

"If we close in range, the Imperials will use their own ion cannons do destroy our shields."

_Ah_, Madakor thought. Switchblade _had _done his research. "Why do you think I installed two new reactors on each of the new Venators? One reactor handles the shields, the other handles the weapons, and the main one handles the engines. They'll hold long enough."

"Spirit of Fire_, this is _Hunter_. We are engaging ISD-One."_

"_This is _Bastion_. We're engaging ISD-Six."_

"Intervention _here. We're knocking the poodoo out of ISD-Five. Be advised, ISDs Two through Four are advancing on your position, single file."_

"Copy that," replied Madakor. "Maintain the attack."

000

"Admiral?" queried the Imperial officer. "Shall we engage Madakor?"

"No," said Admiral Piett. "Destroy the Acclamators. Too many rebel transports are getting through."

"Yes sir."

"Blast," Piett muttered to himself. "I wish they'd transferred those Interdictors to the squadron." He knew that the Acclamators would get away; there was no chance that his heavier ships would reach there in time. General Veers had reported that Echo Base was mostly empty, and that only a company of clone troopers was left…and even they would be overwhelmed soon. That meant that a significant number of transports had made it through. The only bright side was that the rebels' damned planetary ion cannon was out of action. He only hoped that Vader wouldn't turn him into a human rag-doll and throw him into space.

000

"Here they come!" called out a trooper.

Hound could see them as well from the bunker at the top of the hill. Three hundred stormtroopers of the 501st legion, wearing standard snowtrooper armor, supported by a single AT-AT. They were approaching the forward trench, at the bottom of the hill. In that trench was Aurek Company Fifth Platoon, forty clone troopers led by 2nd Lt. CT-9234/05 "Gaz" and Sergeant Major CT-0423/05-01 "Dice".

"Sir," said Captain Mort. "The walker is heading right for the B-Mines. Stroke of luck?"

"I don't believe in luck," said Hound. He didn't even wince as 5th Platoon opened fire. The lead 501st stormies hit the deck. At least two of them were dead. They returned fire just as one of the AT-TEs, hidden safely behind a rock cluster from the sights of the enemy walker, opened fire with its semi-automatic 60mm mortar. The mortar was one of the many options for replacing the AT-TE's top-mounted rail-gun, and it was much cheaper than the other Tactical Enforcer's 30mm Rotary Projectile cannon. That particular walker was still hidden in a nearby cave.

The mortar rounds fell among the stormtroopers. Geysers of snow obscured Hound's view of the battle-field, but he could see that at least twenty stormtroopers were dead. The rest took cover in the craters, firing back determinedly. They weren't the run-of-the-mill stormtroopers. They were the 501st, Vader's Fist. They would fight to the death if asked to.

And the AT-AT was making its presence known as well; the walker fired on Aurek Company's position. The walker wasn't close enough to fire accurately, but the blast started a small avalanche and buried three troopers. The troopers, 3rd platoon men who were in a trench to Hound's right and in the middle of the slope, dug their way out of the snow. One made an unmistakable gesture of displeasure at the AT-AT.

"Shall I detonate the mines, sir?" asked Mort.

"Do it," said Hound.

"Very good, sir."

The B-mines, a larger variant of the commandos' bore-bangs, were anti-materiel mines that burrowed into any soft surface. They were a boon on Hoth, where they could burrow themselves easily into the ice and snow and were easily covered up. As Mort hit the detonators, Hound could see the ice under the walker ripple slightly, and heard a muffled _whoomph_ sound.

There was now a small cavern underneath the AT-AT, and the ice-ceiling wouldn't have been able to hold a man, much less several tons of walker. The AT-AT crashed through the ice, and was now out of the picture. One leg comically extended out of the hole, still moving slightly. Aurek Company cheered at the sight.

A blue-emblazoned stormtrooper commander looked back in shock, raising his head…which was promptly shot off by a round from one of 5th Platoon's E-Web gunners. The 501st's assault wavered with the loss of their commander, and Hound saw an opportunity.

"Captain, order Fifth Platoon and Fourth Platoon to charge."

Without any hesitation, eighty clone troopers leapt out of their trenches and charged the 501st. Although the Imperials outnumbered the New Republic troopers almost four to one, they were in disarray, as opposed to the orderly counter-assault. Demoralized, the enemy retreated, and Mort called off the pursuit.

Although Hound couldn't see Mort's face, he knew the clone captain was smiling. "That went better than expected."

"Yeah," said Hound. "We just staved off death for a few more hours."

"Your optimism is a bright light for all of us, sir."

"Sorry," said Hound. "But I don't think we're getting off this ice cube alive."

Mort looked up. "Actually, sir, I believe we are."

Hound then heard the most beautiful sound ever; the repulsor-lift warbling of a New Republic Marine Corps HTT-26 Troop Transport. There were five of them now, soaring overhead, landing at the bottom of the hill. Each could carry forty soldiers. Hound thought that now, maybe, Hoth wasn't lost after all.

A Marine wearing gray armor and a white cloak—standard NRMC and Grand Army of the New Republic gear for snowy areas—jogged up to Hound and saluted. "Captain Pike, sir, Besh Company, New Republic Marines."

"Thanks," said Hound. "You're just in time. Now, we can push back the enemy and—"

"I believe you've misunderstood, sir," said Pike. Behind him, Marines were herding Hound's troopers into the transports. "Hoth is lost. The planet is overrun and there is an overwhelming Imp Navy presence up there. We're here to get you out, and soon."

"What about the other troopers? The ones stuck inside Echo Base?"

Pike's voice had the emotionality of a rock. "They're to be left behind sir."

Mort was outraged. "Left—left _behind_?!"

"Like I said," Pike replied calmly, "Hoth is overrun. _You_ might have repelled the 501st for a few brief minutes, but the others haven't been so lucky. Echo Base is crawling with stormies that've climbed over the dead bodies of your fellow troopers. You'll be hit from behind if you stay here any longer." He motioned to a Marine behind Hound and Mort. "Marine, blow the charges."

Hound whirled around to see that a Marine had wired explosives into the sides of the tunnel that connected his bunker with Echo Base. A second later, that link was cut; the passage caved in, and the tunnel entrance was transformed into a blank wall of snow. As that occurred, Hound heard a single panicked transmission.

"_Imperial troops have entered the base. I repeat, Imper—"_

Hound recognized the voice. It was Jobin Mothma, the son of the Chancellor herself. He felt an empty pit forming in his stomach. "There's nothing we can do, Mort. Prep the troopers for evac."

As the transport lifted off, Hound caught General Han Solo's transmission stating that he was taking the Princess on his ship. Then he was out of range, and he knew that he had left Hoth behind.

"Fierfek," said Mort softly He looked uncomfortable; they had squeezed one of the walkers on their transport, and he had to lean against one of the AT-TE's six legs. "If we had more ships and troops, we could have retaken the base."

"And if banthas could fly, they'd have wings," said Hound. "It's not a big loss. It's a frelling ball of ice and misery. Let the Imps take it if they want it so much."

"We've had one hell of a day."

"Yeah, we did." Hound popped off his helmet and stared at his reflection in the visor. He noted that he needed a shave. "We'll return the favor, though. And when we do…"

"…we'll whip them," said Mort.

00000


End file.
